ugged at his twine.

"What kind of stock do they use for patent leather?" he puffed. "Let me
see! This must be----"

"Colt. Colt, calf, or kid is used. Colt, as you already know from your
experience in the tanneries, is either the skin of a young horse or the
split skin of a full-grown one. It works up into a light weight, fine
grade patent leather. Calfskins you know all about too; they run light
in weight anyway and, you remember, only need to be trimmed down to
uniform thickness before tanning and dyeing. Patent calf is a heavy,
air-tight leather which has been known to crack," whispered McCarthy
with a wink, "but if it doesn't it wears well. Our best patent leather,
though, is made from kid----"

"Which in reality is goat," interrupted Peter.

"True enough. So it is. Well, patent kid, as we call it, is not only
light weight and elastic, but it is also porous. In fact, it is the only
patent leather made that is not air-tight. It is the air-tightness of
patent leather, you know, which makes it so hot to wear."

"Why, I always thought the trouble was with my feet!" ejaculated Peter.

McCarthy shook his head.

"Well, I never!" said Peter. "So it is the fault of the leather itself."

"I'm afraid it is, young one."

"Well, that settles it! I never shall buy another pair of patent leather
shoes as long----"

"Go easy," retorted McCarthy dryly. "I guess you are safe, though, to
make that vow. Your toggle-boy wages won't furnish you with endless
numbers of patent leathers, I reckon. But cheer up! You won't be needing
pumps here at the works, for while the richest of us always wear Tuxedos
every day we excuse the small salary people from appearing in full
dress."

Peter answered the jest with one of his well-known chuckles.

He was in high spirits, for although there was, as he himself was forced
to own, many a step between him and the presidency of the Coddington
Company he felt he had at least made one loyal friend in the patent
leather factory--McCarthy from the County of Cork!

When Saturday night came, however, and Peter received his pay envelope
he peered anxiously inside it; then he drew a sigh of satisfaction.

"It is a lucky thing," he remarked to himself, "that Peter Strong is not
on real toggle-boy wages. If he was he never would be able to pay the
president another cent toward Nat's motorcycle!"

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XI

TOLMAN EXPERIENCES A SHOCK

During the next few months Peter